or uneducated enough to need it. Roughly translated, she was giving him seating instructions for the enthusiast section.
“Shik ei hadru.”
I serve your words.
The old man gave a deep bow that I was worried would snap him in two and then gestured to one side for us to follow him. As he extended his arm I caught a quick glimpse of an electronic band fixed securely to his wrist. There was a long number and a dimly lit yellow symbol on it.
We followed the old man down the galleries that ran between each tier of seating – him waiting patiently with folded arms for others blocking our way to take their seats – until we reached a set of steps, which he climbed agonizingly, until we were about twenty rows higher than the Patron section. From all around us came the strong smell of salt water, mixed with an astringent dampness that reminded me of public swimming pools. The man led us to a run of seven seats between a young Pixie couple and an Imp, who stared at us for several beats too long. Each chair was carved from marble and supported a cluster of cushions. In addition, each chair had a wooden box resting on it.
“Hajik churah.” For you.
He bowed and motioned to leave.
“Wait.” I pulled my currency card from my robe and was about to offer it for a tip, but Danny beat me to it.
The man glanced at the card and then waved his hands in front of his chest. “Ver.” No.
He scurried away and Danny shrugged, pocketing his card and then removing the box before taking his seat along with the rest of us. I wondered whether it was in some way impolite to offer a tip in Fenodara. Grey gave a chuckle and I glanced over. His box lid was open and he was holding a bottle of cola and a bag of pork scratchings in his hand. “Human food. Can you believe it?”
Hollie wavered her hand. “Barely human food.”
“Oh the irony of a Vegetarian hunter,” quipped Danny. Hollie dug an elbow into his side as Grey pulled open the packet, wincing as his teeth broke apart the hard crackling inside.
“Can you imagine the import tax?” joked Troy as he opened his box.
A murmur of laughter bounced between us as I opened mine. Inside was a bottle of lemonade and a large bag of salt and vinegar crisps. I took them both out and set the box down behind my feet. Not long after I had popped the seal on my drink and taken an eye-watering swig, a second bell chimed – much louder than before now that we were closer – and the all of the doors to the Aquadome were cranked shut.
In an instance, the atmosphere shifted from the sizzle of anticipation to pure electricity. The lights in the Aquadome winked out, and at the same moment spotlights within the pool bloomed into life, drawing everyone’s focus. The crowd started to clap in a slow rhythmic pattern, which grew steadily in speed and intensity. There was a series of cranking sounds as two statues shaped like Cetus – vine-coated mouths wide open and facing centre – rose from the depths and broke the surface like salvaged artifacts. The statues were oddly translucent in colour, like the skin of a jellyfish, and I could see the water dripping and draining inside them.
The clapping grew louder and faster.
Not knowing what else to do, I joined in. It was hard not to get caught up in the atmosphere, and my heart started beating faster as I waited to see what would happen next. I imagine this is what the Trials of the Chosen were like. Wish I’d managed to watch at least some of them before everything kicked off.
A man’s voice burst out over a series of hidden speakers – deep and with the confidence of someone who had been doing the job for a long time. He spoke in Qi’lern, his voice riding over the sound of the booming claps.
“Divine Blessings, good citizens of Fenodara. It is my, Gamesmaster Henrick Deghal’s, distinct pleasure to welcome you all to the one hundred and twenty second cycle of the Kor’Istis Games!”
The clapping exploded into a feverous series of
“Shik ei hadru.”
I serve your words.
The old man gave a deep bow that I was worried would snap him in two and then gestured to one side for us to follow him. As he extended his arm I caught a quick glimpse of an electronic band fixed securely to his wrist. There was a long number and a dimly lit yellow symbol on it.
We followed the old man down the galleries that ran between each tier of seating – him waiting patiently with folded arms for others blocking our way to take their seats – until we reached a set of steps, which he climbed agonizingly, until we were about twenty rows higher than the Patron section. From all around us came the strong smell of salt water, mixed with an astringent dampness that reminded me of public swimming pools. The man led us to a run of seven seats between a young Pixie couple and an Imp, who stared at us for several beats too long. Each chair was carved from marble and supported a cluster of cushions. In addition, each chair had a wooden box resting on it.
“Hajik churah.” For you.
He bowed and motioned to leave.
“Wait.” I pulled my currency card from my robe and was about to offer it for a tip, but Danny beat me to it.
The man glanced at the card and then waved his hands in front of his chest. “Ver.” No.
He scurried away and Danny shrugged, pocketing his card and then removing the box before taking his seat along with the rest of us. I wondered whether it was in some way impolite to offer a tip in Fenodara. Grey gave a chuckle and I glanced over. His box lid was open and he was holding a bottle of cola and a bag of pork scratchings in his hand. “Human food. Can you believe it?”
Hollie wavered her hand. “Barely human food.”
“Oh the irony of a Vegetarian hunter,” quipped Danny. Hollie dug an elbow into his side as Grey pulled open the packet, wincing as his teeth broke apart the hard crackling inside.
“Can you imagine the import tax?” joked Troy as he opened his box.
A murmur of laughter bounced between us as I opened mine. Inside was a bottle of lemonade and a large bag of salt and vinegar crisps. I took them both out and set the box down behind my feet. Not long after I had popped the seal on my drink and taken an eye-watering swig, a second bell chimed – much louder than before now that we were closer – and the all of the doors to the Aquadome were cranked shut.
In an instance, the atmosphere shifted from the sizzle of anticipation to pure electricity. The lights in the Aquadome winked out, and at the same moment spotlights within the pool bloomed into life, drawing everyone’s focus. The crowd started to clap in a slow rhythmic pattern, which grew steadily in speed and intensity. There was a series of cranking sounds as two statues shaped like Cetus – vine-coated mouths wide open and facing centre – rose from the depths and broke the surface like salvaged artifacts. The statues were oddly translucent in colour, like the skin of a jellyfish, and I could see the water dripping and draining inside them.
The clapping grew louder and faster.
Not knowing what else to do, I joined in. It was hard not to get caught up in the atmosphere, and my heart started beating faster as I waited to see what would happen next. I imagine this is what the Trials of the Chosen were like. Wish I’d managed to watch at least some of them before everything kicked off.
A man’s voice burst out over a series of hidden speakers – deep and with the confidence of someone who had been doing the job for a long time. He spoke in Qi’lern, his voice riding over the sound of the booming claps.
“Divine Blessings, good citizens of Fenodara. It is my, Gamesmaster Henrick Deghal’s, distinct pleasure to welcome you all to the one hundred and twenty second cycle of the Kor’Istis Games!”
The clapping exploded into a feverous series of
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